


one man's junk is another man's treasure

by antikytheras



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, M/M, junkertown shenanigans, this was basically written as a gift for a ten year old so you can probably guess how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: Hanzo and McCree try to escape from Junkertown. Keyword: try. Well, they don't reallytryvery hard, but an attempt was certainly made.McCree saves the day with Pocky.





	one man's junk is another man's treasure

**Author's Note:**

> based on an Experience my friend had with this ten year old kid in a custom game. enjoy!

'Told you this was a bad idea.'

'Quiet.'

'There was a reason they called for at least 6 members for this mission, y'know.'

'I said, quiet,' Hanzo hisses again, harsher this time, and this time Jesse spots the strange, strained curve to his boyfriend's spine that says "I'm trying to pick a lock behind my back without losing this tiny lockpick on this dirty floor."

The hidden room is dark, dim and cramped. There's hardly enough room to stand up, let alone for two full-grown men to search blindly for a fallen object. So Jesse falls silent immediately, and the tinkling scratch of something-thin against metal rushes to fill the spaces between.

Then something falls against the floor with a heavy thud, and Jesse eyes jump up from the handcuffs to meet Hanzo's frown. He has one hand wrapped around his wrist and rubbing soothing circles at the angry-red chafed skin there.

After indulging his failed skincare routine for an exceptionally brief moment, he immediately twists to pick the lock on the cuffs around his ankles.

 _That's Hanzo for you_ , Jesse thought. Ever the expert when it came to efficiency.

In a blur, he feels the weight fall from his own wrists and ankles, and the chafing hits him like a full-blown case of athritis.

'Ow, ow, ow ow ow—'

Hanzo lifts a finger to his lips, but his frown deepens and he scoots forward to inspect Jesse's wrists. His hands feel less rough than the week before, but equally warm and gentle when they gingerly turn Jesse's forearm this way and that.

That shuts Jesse up immediately.

'I did not think to bring any bandages with me,' Hanzo murmurs, and the bite of self-reproach prompts Jesse to reach out.

Or, at least, try to. But Hanzo's wiping the tiny droplets of blood off his broken skin, and the air of intimacy about the whole thing makes him falter in his tracks.

'The fellas just left for their lunch break, I reckon,' he says instead.

'I heard as well. This is our chance to escape.'

Jesse bounces to his feet and winces at the sting. 'Hoo. That one coulda knocked the wind out of me.'

Hanzo frowns. Jesse really thinks he should stop frowning. It's not doing his frown lines any favours. Not that he'd love him any less for being old, but—

'I can almost hear you being foolish,' Hanzo says drily, standing beside the open door (now, when did that happen?) with a smile reluctantly tugging at one corner of his lip.

'Sorry,' he adds, easily but no-less-sincere.

'Don't you worry now, I've been through worse.' Memories of the one time Gabe caught him taking "a smoke break" during a fire evac flash through his mind, and he shudders. Damn the man and his sense of humour. 'A lot worse.'

'We can reminisce on our way out,' Hanzo reminds him, casting dark glances out down the hallway. 'Preferably while we are on a rescue chopper. Or Pharah's back.'

The mental image of Pharah plummeting through the skies cracks him up, so he snickers all the way out into the bright of day.

Hanzo smiles beside him the whole way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pair practically saunter through the empty streets of Junkertown.

Hanzo carefully replaces the hairpin he had repurposed into a lockpick back into his immaculately tied hair. The metal stands out against the dark strands, glinting under the blazing rays of the sun. It illuminates all the scars littered across his body, and for a second they shine like golden aether dripping from the body of a god.

The thought keeps his idle mind occupied for a good five minutes while he performs a 100-question personality quiz in his mind to figure out Which God Are You? Click Here And Be Amazed!

It takes a fork in their path to break him out of his reverie.

'Jesse?'

Hanzo's staring at him with an eyebrow raised, one foot trodden on the path out of the haphazardly constructed but charming place.

Meanwhile, Jesse's turned toward a small footpath leading back into the bowels of Junkertown.

It takes about three seconds of their confused staring for it to click.

'Jesse, no—'

'Aw c'mon, Han—’

'Overwatch has been generous with their resources, we can always replace—'

A-ha, Hanzo had activated his trap card. 'Do you know many guns that shoot six bullets even when the magazine ain't full?'

That gets Hanzo to stop in his tracks. 'My dragons are not bound by weapon, so I assumed—'

Jesse sighs. 'Sheesh, and here I thought you'd be more willing to come help me look for it, 'specially since you're the main reason we're stuck here and all—'

Hanzo eyes him suspiciously (as he should, Jesse notes, proud even while his boyfriend analyses his plan with his piercing gaze like it's concealed by nothing but a layer of cling wrap) but relents. 'Very well.'

Jesse winks. 'Thank you kindly.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three abandoned (and very much gunless) shacks later, Jesse starts to think that maybe he's out of luck.

He's gone through every single drawer, shelf, nook and cranny in this little shed for parked vehicles. He's even rifled through the knick knacks in the glove compartment of what looked to be a worn down, once bright blue Range Rover. He's checked under the carpets, above the highest shelves, and even run his fingers along the walls to feel for a hidden button but still. Nothing.

'Found anything yet?' he calls out, ambling towards the storage room, only to be greeted by the sight of Hanzo sitting in a corner, one arm wrapped around a hastily broken-open cardboard box and the other stuffing his face with little white rice cakes.

Hanzo meets his eyes and swallows. 'If you get to trick me into staying here longer, I get to eat our kidnappers' imported food.'

Jesse laughs, dropping to the floor and cozying up to Hanzo's side. 'Only if you share it with me.'

They sit like that for a little while, pressed together in the corner of a dingy warehouse and ravenously eating their way through most of the imported sweets until a shrill siren's call interrupts their peaceful tea time.

Hanzo immediately drops the box and scrambles to his feet, pressing himself against the wall and listening carefully for noise.

It turns out that he doesn't have to listen very closely, because the Junkers don't bother with discretion when they storm into the building.

With a tightly-clenched jaw, Hanzo quietly picks up a fallen pipe and slides into a stance his body has never forgotten, no matter how he tries.

Jesse gets to his feet and sighs. He stoops to pick up a box of Pocky, long, thin biscuit sticks coated with strawberry-flavoured filling. They've always been a favourite of Hanzo's— Jesse had gotten very acquainted with his favourite snacks during what he affectionately referred to as the courting process.

Smiling apologetically at his bewildered boyfriend, Jesse rips open the top of the little pink rectangular box and then tears a sizable opening in the foil.

The crinkling noise attracts the attention of all the Junkers in the vicinity. He hears them approaching the door to the storage room, and motions for Hanzo to throw open the door on his signal.

'Deadeye's ready, partner.'

Hanzo relaxes and drops the stance, but notably he doesn't drop the pipe.

Three...

Two...

One...

Hanzo flings open the door and Jesse steps through, one eye glowing with an eerie red light.

He smirks, drawing the box of Pocky and winking at the exasperated Hanzo with (and he's careful to make sure which it is) his left eye.

'Well, fellas,' he drawls, 'it's high noon.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/_antikytheras)


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